


[nothing else matters]

by sonic_counselor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonic_counselor/pseuds/sonic_counselor
Summary: "Cas is—he’s family and I ain’t leaving him there. Now you can help me with that, or you can do whatever it is you need to do, but one way or another I’m getting him back.”He stumbles to his feet, his legs cramped and aching from sitting so long on the cold concrete floor.“You with me on this?”When Sam doesn’t reply, his silence giving Dean the answer he didn't want, he pushes past him, past Jack, and out of the room.Another post-Despair fic to add to the growing pile; there are many like it, but this one is mine. Contains spoilers for s15e18.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 267





	[nothing else matters]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FiremanSam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiremanSam/gifts).



> This is my first foray into SPN fic and I'm a little nervous to come out of my Teen Wolf comfort zone so please be gentle! 
> 
> Major character death tag for Cas’ (hopefully temporary) death. 
> 
> The Scene ignited so much hope in me, which given I'm an eternal pessimist, is not something that happens often! Although I've casually been watching SPN for a few years, because seeing it crop up on my tumblr dash for years piqued my interested, I've only climbed aboard the Destiel/DeanCas train during lockdown so apologies in advance for any OOC-ness. 
> 
> Also, Cas spelled with one S is absolutely the hill that I will die on.

He can hear movement in the bunker, voices calling his name, Cas’ name, but can’t bring himself to care and stays rooted to the spot. Even as the footsteps and voices get louder, as Sam hurtles into the room, catching his shoulder on the bookcase in his hurry to get to Dean. 

“Dean!” 

The relief in Sam’s voice is palpable, but Dean still can’t respond. 

“Dean?” Sam’s relieved tone rapidly turns to one of concern as he crouches in front of Dean and takes hold of his arm, pulls gently to look at his bloody, bruised knuckles. “Dean, where’s Cas?”

“He’s—Sammy, he’s—“ 

He can’t do it, can’t get the words out; the very thought of trying to explain to Sam what’s happened makes him want to vomit. 

“It took him.” 

Dean manages to look up at that, at Jack’s flat assertion and nods once, hand clamped over his mouth. The fresh tears that spring to his eyes come as a surprise after the dry sobs thy have been wracking his body for the last—hour? Two hours? Longer? He has no idea how long he’s been sitting here. 

“It? What it?” Sam turns to look over his shoulder at Jack before turning his attention back to Dean.

“The Entity,” Jack says simply. “From the Empty. He—Cas—he made a deal with it. It doesn’t make any sense of though. It told him it would only come for him when he was happy, truly happy.” 

“What deal?” Sam interrupts, looking from Jack to Dean and back again. “When?”

“When I died. It invaded heaven, looking for me. It only agreed to let me return when—“

“Cas traded his soul for yours,” Dean manages. He tries, he really does, to keep the bitterness from his voice but Jack still recoils like Dean has slapped him. 

Sam exhales loudly, shoving a hand through his hair before getting to his feet. “We’ve got bigger problems—“ 

“Bigger problems?” Dean parrots as he stares up at Sam. “Sam, this is Cas we’re talking about.” 

“I know Dean, I know, but they’re all gone.”

“What? No, we stopped her. We stopped Billie. The Empty took her too.”

“Dean, I watched them all vanish, Bobby, Charlie, Donna. They all disappeared, right in front of us. It was Chuck all along and right now, we need to stop him. We have to.” 

“But Cas—“

“We have to focus on Chuck,” Sam says after a beat. “I’m sorry Dean. I know how much Cas means to you, he means the same to me too, but if we don’t stop Chuck, that’s it, for all of us, the whole world.”

“Screw. Chuck.” 

“Dean—“ 

“You heard me. Screw him. Cas is—he’s family and I ain’t leaving him there. Now you can help me with that, or you can do whatever it is you need to do, but one way or another I’m getting him back.”

He stumbles to his feet, his legs cramped and aching from sitting so long on the cold concrete floor. 

“You with me on this?” 

When Sam doesn’t reply, his silence giving Dean the answer he didn't want, he pushes past him, past Jack, and out of the room. 

•••

Thirteen hours and twenty seven minutes have passed since Cas was taken and Dean still hasn’t found anything that even comes close to summoning the Shadow. He pulls the half empty bottle of cheap whiskey towards himself and unscrews it, tossing the cap across the room before taking a long swig straight from the bottle. 

“Dean?”

Jack’s standing at the end of the table, fingertips resting on the polished surface and a slight frown on his face. 

“I think I can help. I think—I think I can get you to the Empty.”

•••

The Empty is like nothing Dean has ever experienced; there must be a floor, he reasons, because he’s standing on something that feels almost solid. There’s an unpleasant, sticky quality to it that dredges up a long forgotten childhood memory, of the summer they’d lived outside Lafayette, of asphalt so hot it had melted, sticking and sucking at their shoes whenever they’d stepped outside. The air around him has a similar surreal quality to it, the barest cloying suggestion that it could be solid if it chose to. 

“Cas!” 

There’s no echo; the Empty's velvet silence swallows his words, deadens them. Or not so quiet, he realises as he turns around, straining his eyes in the hope that he might suddenly see Cas emerge for the darkness. On the very edge of hearing, and only if he does't think direclty about it, he can hear a susurration of voices. 

“Cas!” A voice mimics from behind him; he knows that voice, would know it anywhere. He’s not going to turn around, he’s not going to give it the satisfaction of reacting to it wearing his mother’s face. 

“Cas! Castiel!”

A way off, it’s hard to judge just how far, he sees a figure emerge from the inky black, a figure with broad shoulders, dressed in a shabby trenchcoat. The sigh of Cas hits him hard, a swooping feeling in his chest like he's riding a rollercoaster. 

He calls Cas' name again and starts to move towards him; it feels like he’s running in a dream, like he’s trying to wade through molasses. It takes a lifetime, maybe a hundred lifetimes, to reach Cas and even as he inches closer, he wonders if this is just another of the Shadow’s tricks. That he’ll get there and that familiar face he knows so well, that he’s spent so much time studying over the years, will twist, that it will be a cruel facsimile of Cas. 

“Cas.” It comes out as a gasp as he finally gets close, close enough to reach out and touch him. And he tries, but Cas turns, moves back from him. 

“You’re not him.”

“What? No. Cas, it’s me,” Dean starts as he reaches for Cas again: Cas evades his grip once more, an expression of disgust on his face and God, that hurts.

“Don’t you grow tired of this?” Cas grits out. “Of appearing in that form?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean demands. This time, he’s too quick for Cas and manages to get a grip on Cas’ arm. “Cas, listen to me. It’s me, I’m real. You have to believe me.”

“No. You’re not Dean.”

“Cas, we don’t have time for this! If I’m—whatever the fuck that thing is, would I know that your favourite food when you lost your grace was PB and J—with grape jelly because you don't like raspberry. You like—you like watching bees and once? Once you showed up covered in them. On my car. Naked. You, uh, what else? Oh! You made me take you to a freaking mall to buy that damn stuffed cat for Claire, for her eighteenth. You—“

“Dean,” Cas exhales. 

“Uh huh. Live and in the flesh.”

Cas pulls him into a crushing hug, which Dean doesn’t hesitate to return; it’s been less than a day since the Shadow took Cas but it feels like an eternity. Dean doesn't bother pretending this is another one of their bro hugs and leans into it, ducking his head low and pressing his forehead against Cas' neck. 

“How—why are you here?” Cas asks when they separate, although Dean doesn’t miss the way his hand lingers on his arm. 

“Why? Seriously?” 

“Dean, I made peace with my decision.” 

“Oh good,” Dean retorts loudly, to whatever invisible audience they may have, arms flung wide. “He made peace with his decision, everybody. Well I didn’t. I won’t.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Cas says, head cocked to one side as he frowns at Dean. “You forced your way into a dimension in which humans shouldn’t even be able exist in order to—to berate me?”

“No!” Dean barks as he steps closer to Cas, infuriated by his bewildered expression and has to fight back the urge to grab Cas by his stupid trench coat and shake him. “I came to bring you back. I’m bringing you home.”

“But—Dean, the deal. I—“

“I couldn’t care less about your dumbass self-sacrificing deal, Cas! You left, again, and I’m not OK with that.” 

“Technically I was—“

“Shut up! You left. You knew it would take you and you let it. You left me, Cas. You told me you —“ he can’t bring himself to say those three little words; not yet, not here. 

“How touching,” the Shadow drawls as it manifests in front of them, this time wearing Jack’s face, although the smile on its face is a grotesque, twisted mockery of the real thing. “That little, guttering flame of hope, reignited inside poor little Castiel. Snuffing it out again will be even more enjoyable. For me, anyway,” it contorts Jack’s face into another unpleasant smile. “For Castiel, on the other hand, I’m imagine it will be nothing short of torture.”

“You ain’t touching him, buddy,” Dean snaps. He sidesteps to position himself between the Shadow and Cas, arm outstretched to stop Cas from moving past him. “He’s coming with me.” 

The Shadow sneers. “I could kill you,” it tells him. “Both of you. With just a snap of my fingers.” 

“Not buying it.”

“Dean—"

He shushes Cas absentmindedly, keeps his attention focused on the Shadow. 

“The way I see it, you got two choices right now.”

“Which are?” It asks, as though it’s humoring him, circling them, like it’s trying to get behind Dean, trying to get to Cas. And that definitely isn’t happening again, not now. Not without going through him first. 

“You let us leave. Both of us. No conditions, no sub-clauses, no nothing. Because you know that we’re the literally the last people on Earth who can stop Chuck. And stopping Chuck, that’s the only way you go back to sleep.”

“Quite the compelling argument. And if I don’t agree to your demands?”

“Then I stay,” Dean tells it through gritted teeth. “You think he’s a pain in your ass? He’s got nothing on me, I can promise you that. I’ll wake ‘em all up. Every last one. That what you want?”

“I’m older than creation itself, Dean Winchester. Do you really think you can threaten me? You think you can harm me?”

“You think I can’t? I killed Cain. And Abbadon. Azazel too. And plenty more besides them. Hell, I’ve killed Death. Twice. That’s right,” he continues, when the Shadow slows it’s pace momentarily. “Billie? She’s off the board.”

“You’re lying.” 

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

It goes against every instinct he has, but he turns his back on it, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Crowley! C’mon Crowley, I know you’re here!”

“No!” The Entity snaps. It appears in front of them once more, and ‘Jack’ has disappeared to be replaced with Dean’s father. “Stop it, boy.”

“Crowley!” Dean shouts again as he nudges Cas, who nods in understanding. “Wake up, you limey bastard!” 

“Meg!” 

“Stop it!”

The Shadow’s John disguise flickers for a moment, like a TV losing signal, before settling on the image of a dark haired woman; Dean vaguely recognises her as another angel but pays it no mind as he continues to shout names into the void.

“You will stop this!” The Shadow all but screeches. “Stop!”

“Send us back,” Dean orders. 

As they look on, the Shadow moans and twists, all it’s composure gone as it claws at it’s head. It screams, a hideous, eldritch sound that Dean feels more than hears, and makes a desperate grab at Cas. It’s slower now, in it’s tormented state, and Cas evades it easily; without thinking, Dean reaches for his hand, grasping tightly when he finds it. He’s watched this thing take Cas once already and he’s not ready for the live action replay of that any time soon. 

It screams again, continuing to flicker between different faces, a hint of Bobby, a suggestions of Kevin, of Charlie and Benny, Jo, Ash. Ruby. Ellen. Faces Dean doesn’t recognise, angels maybe. 

The next scream hits them like a shockwave, forcing them backwards. 

“Get out!” It shrieks and from behind them comes an oddly soft tearing noise, a hole ripping in the nothingness. It’s edges flutter in a non-existent breeze. “Out! Get out!”

The Shadow screeches again, the force of it’s rage propelling them into the fissure it’s torn open. The last thing Dean sees as they’re pulled into the void is the Shadow clawing at itself as it screams before he and Cas are swallowed up by the blackness. There’s a sensation of falling, at both immense speed and slow motion at the same time, a sense of weightlessness; Dean can’t tell if it’s he and Cas in motion or if the universe is moving around them.

The only thing that makes any sense is Cas’ hand in his, warm and solid and real, and so he holds on. He’s been here too many times before, has watched too many times as Cas has been dragged away from him and he’s not about to let that happen again. And as the sensation of falling at speed increases, he grips Cas’ hand tighter, so hard that the bones in his own hand ache. 

The void swallows any words he tries to get out and all he can do is cling onto Cas and hope they make it out alive. 

•••

The momentum of the Empty expelling them sends them sprawling across the floor as they crash back into the bunker, and the first thing Dean sees as he rolls onto his back and tries to catch his breath, is Sam standing over him, gun drawn. And then chaos descends and he’s being pulled to his feet as Sam and Jack hug them both. 

“What the hell, Dean? I thought you were—I thought Chuck had got you! Where were you?” 

“Empty,” Dean manages, as though he'd just popped to Smith Center on a supply run. “I was in the Empty. Brought Cas home.”

He gestures to Cas, in case Sam and Jack have some how overlooked the fact that he’s back. 

“How?” 

Dean collapses into a chair, only half listening as Jack explains how the barriers between their world and the Empty are getting thinner, how his connection to the Empty and the Shadow let him—blah blah, something something. Dean’s not taking the words in; he's too busy watching Cas, can’t take his eyes off him. Cas, who he thought they’d—he’d lost forever. Cas, who refused, over and over, to obey God’s will because of him. Cas, who apparently loves him. Him. Dean Winchester, supremely broken, fucked up Dean Winchester. 

Cas is watching him too, his expression guarded. Dean’s too strung out on lack of sleep and adrenaline and the knowledge that he’s pissed off another cosmic entity and lived to tell the tale to be able to get a read him. All he knows is that every time Cas catches his eye, a shiver goes through him and his stomach flips. 

“What I don’t get is why,” Jack is saying. “It said it would only come for you when you were truly happy. What happened?” 

“I—“ Cas starts with a glance at Dean and all Dean can do is stare down at the table top. He doesn’t know what’s worse; the possibility hearing Cas explain just what made so happy that the Shadow came to collect, or the possibility of hearing him lie, tell them something else happened to seal the deal. 

“I need—“ His words catch and stick in his throat, every moment that passing making it more difficult for him to catch his breath. He’s painfully aware that he’s falling apart, that Sam, Jack, Cas, they’re all standing there watching him falling apart. 

So, like the coward he’s always known himself to be, he turns tail and makes for the stairs as fast as he can manage, ignores the sound of the three of them calling his name. Of Cas calling his name. 

•••

“Dean?” 

He takes another deep breath, keeps his gaze focused on his hands, spread across the cool metal of Baby’s hood. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s Cas standing close by.

“I needed some air,” he mutters as he stands and pulls his keys from his pocket. He turns them over a few times before yanking open the driver’s side door. “I need to get out of here.”

Cas nods and steps back, back towards the bunker and Dean knows that if he lets him go, that’ll be it. They’ll never talk about what happened. They’ll plow straight back into taking down Chuck and there’s a real possibility that one of them, maybe both of them, won’t make it out of this alive and he needs Cas to know how he feels before that happens.

“You wanna come?” 

To his immense relief, Cas nods. As he starts the car and pulls away from the bunker, he knows there’ll be hell to pay later, from Sam, for pulling a disappearing act—his second of the day—at the eleventh hour but at this moment, with Cas back, riding shotgun beside him where it's always felt like he belongs, he can’t find it in himself to care what Sam might say. 

His stomach is churning as they drive through Lebanon’s deserted streets, his thoughts racing as he navigates abandoned vehicles and points them towards the highway. Part of him wants to yell at Cas, to tell him just how selfish his decision was, how stupid. Tell him how losing him was the single worst pain Dean has ever felt in his life. Or to demand Cas explain why he thought he couldn’t have—what he wants. Part of him wants to stop the car and embrace Cas and hope that that’s enough to convey how he feels. Another part of him, the part of him that’s terrified, knows he needs to tell Cas, owes it to Cas, to put into words exactly how he feels, to destroy Cas’ notion that his feelings are one sided. 

Except when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “So. Chuck’s still out there.”

He glances at Cas, who’s watching him, a bemused expression on his face. “Yes, I suppose he is.”

“And more powerful than ever.”

“Mm. Dean, my grace is severely depleted,” Cas sighs. “There will be very little, if anything, I can do to help this time.”

“Your grace? Cas, what are you talking about?” 

“When the time comes, I won’t be able to stop him. To hold him off. You do understand that I won’t be of much use?”

“Much use?” Dean parrots. “We didn’t—I didn’t bring you back because you’re useful, dumbass. What, you think we only want you around because you’re useful?”

Cas shrugs, infuriatingly, and looks away from Dean and Dean has to fight down the urge to smack him upside the back of his damn fool head. 

“I can’t believe you, man,” he manages at last. “I can’t believe after everything that’s happened, everything we’ve been through together, that you think that’s how we see you.”

“Isn’t it?” Cas turns to look at him, holding his gaze. 

“Cas, we need to talk.” It comes out too loud in the quiet of the car. “We need to talk about what you said.”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but keeps watching him. It’s too much for Dean and he has to look away. It’s starting to grow light outside, dawn breaking over the horizon as they cruise down the empty highway. 

“I can’t do—I can’t give you what you want,” he says at last, gaze resolutely fixed on the road ahead. He can’t look at Cas, because if he looks, he knows he’ll break. 

“I understand,” Cas replies stiltedly. “I always knew you didn’t, couldn’t, feel the same—“

Dean shakes his head, because no, Cas doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get it. 

“That’s not it, Cas. It’s not. I—god, I’m bad at this.” He pulls over abruptly at the side of the highway; kills the engine and gets out of the car. There’s a cold, sinking feeling in his chest when Cas doesn’t follow and so he sits alone on Baby’s hood, feet up on the bumper while he watches the sky turning red, pink, orange as the sun rises over the Kansas plain. It looks they’re in for a beautiful day, which feels wrong given that Chuck could obliterate the entire planet at any second. 

After a long time, Cas comes to join him and leans against the grill, his elbow brushing against Dean’s knee. 

“You’re wrong, you know.” 

Cas laughs, soft and humourless. “I may need you to be more specific.”

“What you want? Not being able to have it? You’re wrong.”

“Dean. You don’t have to—“ 

“Cas, just—just shut up, OK? You could’ve had it. If you’d told me—“

“Could have?” Cas interrupts, shifting his weight so that his elbow is no longer in contact with Dean. It should be a tiny, insignificant move but is more than enough to reignite Dean’s fear that he’ll inevitably screw this up, that’ll he do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing and Cas will realise what an enormous mistake he’s making. An overwhelming wave of anxious self preservation rushes through him and he has to fight back the urge to make a joke of it, to tell Cas that in case he hasn’t noticed, the world is ending. Sure, it’d no doubt end in Cas leaving, again, or in one of them dying without Dean having told Cas how he feels but at least then, he wouldn’t have to run the risk of admitting how he really does feel only for Cas to realise what a bad decision this—he—is. 

“I told you, I’m not good at this,” he says quietly, staring down at his own knees and trying to ignore the way being this open, with anyone, but especially with Cas, leaves him feeling as though he’s been flayed. Like the smallest wrong word, the merest hint of rejection would burn.“I don’t know where you got this idea that how you feel was, is, one sided, but it’s not, OK? And you think that—you see me as this good person and I gotta be honest, Cas, that scares the crap out of me. Because I’m not. A good person, I mean, and if we—you know—you’d realise that and you’d leave. Again.” 

“Dean—“ There’s a soft expression on Cas’ face and Dean has never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now, but he needs to do this. 

“I tried—I wanted to tell you,” he continues. “In Purgatory. I thought we’d—I’d—lost you. And I’ve known for a long time that how I feel about you? It’s not just because you’re family, OK? It’s more than that. But you, I dunno, you shut me down. And ever since then, everything’s been going to shit and it was never the right time. 

“And then suddenly the whole world is ending, again, and you sacrificed your dumb ass to save us all, again, and you were just—gone, again.”

“But you brought me back. Again.”

Dean nods, rubs at his tired eyes with forefinger and thumb. “Someone had to. And maybe now isn’t the right time, or the best time, but I figure now, it’s the only time we’ve got left and if I don’t tell you, I’ll regret it for, well, however little time we’ve got left before Chuck snuffs us out. I want this, Cas, whatever it is, whatever it might look like, whatever happens. OK? I want you.”

He reaches over and grabs for the lapel of Cas’ coat, uses it to pull him round in front of him and leans forward to press a chaste kiss to Cas’ lips. “If you still want—“

The sound Cas makes at the contact, a soft, eager moan, may be one of the best noises Dean has ever heard. His slips his hand around the back of Dean’s neck, and rests his forehead against Dean’s own. “I want.”

Eons, or maybe just minutes, Dean can’t say for sure, pass as they stay like that, their breath mingling in the small gap between them, Cas tracing small circles with his thumb against the sensitive skin behind Dean’s ear, his other hand resting on Dean’s shoulder to obscure his own bloody handprint. It is, without a doubt, the most intimate moment Dean has ever experienced. 

Cas murmurs his name, brushes his thumb against the bolt of Dean’s jaw before kissing him. Dean has kissed a lot of people in his forty years on the planet, but none of those kisses have felt like this. Cas kisses him like they’ve got all the time in the world, like he’s savouring ever moment, like they’re the only people on the planet and there’s nothing more important than kissing Dean. Like he’s trying to convey god only knows how many months, maybe even years of unspoken feelings with tender, reverent kisses. 

“We should go back,” Cas sighs when they, all too soon for Dean’s liking, come up for air. “Sam and Jack will be worried.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Dean concedes as he stands, rolling his eyes when he catches the somewhat self-satisfied smile Cas gives him. It’s a look he’s been on the receiving end of many a time, the ‘of course I’m right, I’m always right and you should admit it’ look that would normally drive him mad. It hits a little different now though, now Cas’ cheeks are lightly stubble burned, his lips kiss swollen. And god, Dean loves the smug idiot, loves him so much it hurts to look at him. And that’s probably something else he should tell Cas, before Chuck comes back with a vengeance, before he loses the chance to tell him all over again. Only as Dean’s brain finally catches up, Cas is already climbing back into the car.

Dean follows, sliding behind the wheel with a sigh. He slots the keys into the ignition but doesn’t turn them, drumming the thumb of his right hand against the wheel. He’s lost in his own thoughts, zoning out as he tries to work out how he’s suppose to say that to Cas. 

“Dean?”

“I need to say something, OK?” Dean almost snaps; he takes a few deep breaths as he grips the steering wheel tightly, the feel of its familiar curve grounding him. “And I need to just, you know, say it.”

He sneaks a look at Cas, half expecting him, or perhaps willing him, to interupt, to say something. All he gets is silence and a slight smile.

“So. I don’t—I’ve never—“ he drags a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself because he feels like he’s going to bottle it. “I’ve never said this to anyone and actually meant it. Well unless you count to my mom, and Sam, maybe and uh, that’s, you know, different? Because they’re family. And you are too. Family, that is, but it’s different.”

He risks another glance at Cas, half wishing, selfishly, that Cas would tell him that it’s OK, and he knows, and that Dean doesn’t have to say those three little words, because sitting her and trying to say those particular words to Cas, is easily the most terrifying situation Dean has ever faced. Because once he’s said them, he can’t take them back; he’ll be exposed, vulnerable, soft, his father’s voice adds, unhelpfully in his head. Another glance at Cas, however, strengthens his resolve, his determination, because Cas deserves to hear those words. To know that he’s wanted, he’s loved. That Dean doesn't just want him around because he's useful. And knowing that there’s no guarantee they’ll survive what Chuck may throw at them next, that it’s highly likely one or both of them won’t make it through this, that if he dies, Cas will at least know that his feelings, his love, were very much reciprocated. 

“I love you, OK?” He ends up blurting out, loudly, cringing at his own unintentionally accusatory tone. He sounds like he’s mad at Cas, and even he isn’t ass backwards enough to think that’s how telling someone you love them should go. “I love you. I’m—I’m in love with you. Of course I’m in love with you.” 

Cas is looking down at his hands, crossed neatly in his lap, while a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I know,” comes his eventual reply. 

“Oh so you know, do you?” Dean grumbles, his cheeks flushing hot with embarassment. “But you thought you’d let me jackass my way through that anyway?” 

He narrows his eyes and looks at Cas more closely; now he actually looks, now the panic of saying those three little words out loud has subsided, he can see that the smile on Cas’ face is more of a smirk, that he seems to be keeping his head down to avoid catching Dean’s gaze.

“Did you just—you friggin’ Han Solo-ed me, didn't you?!”

Cas looks up and meets his eye at that, and yep, that’s absolutely a smirk on his face, bordering on a shit eating grin; all the smug evidence Dean needs to confirm that he has just, in fact, been Han Solo-ed. 

“The opportunity presented itself.” 

Dean laughs; laughs like he hasn’t done in the longest time, until tears spring to his eyes. Because after everything that they’ve been through, everything that’s happened over the twelve years that he’s known Cas, after he’s lost Cas so many times, as they’re staring down the barrel of another apocalypse, Cas deciding now is the time to air out his pop culture knowledge just cements the knowledge that he is completely, utterly, hopelessly in love.

And maybe they’ll only have a matter of days together, maybe even mere hours, or maybe, somehow, luck will be on their side and they’ll come out the other side of yet another apocalypse and have years together. They’ll get fat and old and grumpy together, or at least Dean will; Cas will just get agelessly older. 

The thought of it renews something in Dean, reignites a spark that had almost burned out; he’s survived so much with Cas by his side, this awkward, stubborn, goofball of an angel, who saved him when he wasn’t ready to be saved, who carved out a space for himself in Dean’s heart, all the while allowing Dean to do the same to him. And whatever storms Chuck may have in store for them, he’ll weather them, they all will, one way or another. With Cas beside him, he can weather any storm. 

He starts the engine and swings the Impala in a wide, lazy u turn, smiling when Cas closes the distance between them, his thigh pressed against Dean’s own and his hand resting on his knee. 

“Let’s go home.” He covers Cas’ hand with his own, squeezes lightly. “We’ve got some cosmic entities to take out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Gifting this to my beautiful bestie, who is currently calling herself FiremanSam. To steal words from Cas, knowing you has changed me, gorgeous girlie, and I'm so very lucky to have you in my life <3


End file.
